When I was ten, I lost my uncle to a heart attack. At
eighteen, I lost my aunt to complications from cancer. They entered Heaven
eight years a part. And there I was, losing her eight years after I lost him,
and the pain? Well, it felt the same. .
At first, you can't believe it's even real. The pain
overwhelms your body, and it's so deep that you eventually become numb. And
your mind won't stop repeating, in complete agony, "why?"... Your
heart aches as if asking the question itself. It's as if you're completely
empty. Almost like your heart is under construction, being torn and prodded.
Eventually, the piece that your loved one used to hold stops functioning. And
though they continue to occupy that place in your fragile heart, it becomes
inactive. Leaving you with no choice but to move on and learn to live without
it.
They're gone...and sometimes we forget. Just the other day,
I saw a girl that looked like my precious aunt. My eyes lit up, my insides
hopefully waited, anticipating the girl to turn around. It's as if I'd tricked
myself into thinking when she did turn, I'd see my aunt's face. I'd see her
uplifting smile. I'd hear her joyful laugh. I'd feel her positive presence. The
girl turned around. And it wasn't my aunt. And deep down, I knew it could never
be her. But knowing that didn't stop the disappointment. My head lowered, and a
tear trickled down my face. Consumed in sorrow, that day was a bad day. It was
one of those days where I couldn't get her off my mind. And I kept trying to
make reason of why that scenario was so real to me. Why did I actually think
she was still on this Earth?
After much pondering, I came to this conclusion...
There's a little bit of my Aunt Lesia in all of us. She's
the happiness that a cancer patient exudes when they've made progress after that first round of
chemo. She's that contagious laugh that your best friend has. She's the person
that asks how you're doing, when they themselves have hit an absolute rock
bottom. She's the patient who the doctors say will never recover...and then,
against all odds, recovers....smiling through the whole process-- showing that
miracles do happen. She's the comfort in a bad day. She's the person who can
forgive someone, when they've done the unforgivable. She's the woman who
becomes close to God, even if He's given her countless reasons to doubt Him. We
all know people like that. She was mine. And I miss her--every...single...day.
My advice to you, my friend, is to find purpose in your
loved one's death.
I am the person I am
today because I lost two people who meant the world to me. God may have taken
them away from me. And at times, I feel cheated because they're not here. But
I've gained a whole lot of wisdom and strength from experiencing the loss of my
best friends. They taught me to appreciate life. They taught me that breathing
doesn't always mean you're living. They taught me to fearlessly take on any
challenge you're given and to always listen to your dreams.
If it hadn't been for them, I wouldn't be writing to you
right now. I just want you to know, that it does get better. No, the pain won't
fade...but you will eventually find peace in their passing.
I pray that your sadness will subside. And I pray that your
heart will heal.
In this great life, everything doesn't always make sense.
That's when you start having to make sense of it yourself.
** Uncle Jim and Aunt Lesia, I hope I'm making you proud.**
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